


A Dangerous Thing

by Murderbirb (Merbabe), One-EyedBossman (desert000rose)



Series: The Records Keeper: A Nygmobblepot tale [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Timeline Season 1 -2, Edward Nygma is Awkward, Harvey Bullock is Disgruntled, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Nygmobblepot Week 2017, Omegaverse, Oswald Cobblepot is Devilish, Sexism, Worldbuilding, workplace harassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merbabe/pseuds/Murderbirb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/desert000rose/pseuds/One-EyedBossman
Summary: "A cupcake is sweet, a bullet is deadly, and a beautiful man is a dangerous thing."In which Edward Nygma finds himself charmed by GCPD’s new records keeper, an omega known as Oswald Cobblepot.For Nygmobblepot Week, Day 2: AU/Crossover





	A Dangerous Thing

**Author's Note:**

> “Fun Fact. The human species attracts members of the opposite sex via pheromones secreted through saliva, sweat, and urine. But, one can't always trust such an animalistic method to find such a suitable partner.” 
> 
>  
> 
> Co-written by One-Eyed-Bossman (Edward) and MurderBirb (Oswald)  
> This story includes Omegaverse elements, but no prior knowledge is needed to read. The a/b/o dynamics inform the world of the characters rather than standing as the central focus.

 

"Ah, you said- you wanted this?"

 

It's not his first day working at the precinct, nor is it his second. He's taken a couple of days, squared away in the back as he oriented himself to the files, how many there were... fingers brushing past all of the folders and the cabinets and the mess that his predecessor had left upon his desk.

 

Only _now_ is he out front.

 

Oswald’s dress is dapper as ever, though not quite as to the nines as in his spare time. Simply in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a purple, patterned waistcoat, his father's old monocle perched within the front pocket of it. It has served him well with the small writing scrawled in the documents he’s reviewed over the past few days. All the rest of his outfit is black slacks and shined dress shoes and he's quite aware that he outdoes half of the other men working in the building. Or, well, he _would,_ if it wasn't for his hooked nose, for his limp.

 

Still, that hasn't stopped some of the younger cops from their obscene comments. Thinking that, because he was an omega and because he was working a bookish side-job, that he is someone to be trifled with. Hmph, unlikely.

 

Now, he stands before... Edward Nygma? Yes, that's what his name tag said; the man offering him a full file for the current case taken on by Detective Jim Gordon.

 

"Let me know if everything is there or not, it should be. The back is- kind of a mess but I'm working on it."

 

“Yes, thank you-''

 

The man before him blinks a few times, angling away from the microscope he's been examining to fully face Oswald. He cocks his head, studying him for an almost uncomfortably long moment, before chirping interestedly.

 

''You're the new records keeper.''

 

He arches an eyebrow, for a moment looking like something was bothering him, before examining the file a little closer and perking up. Apparently it’s unexpected. Or pleasing. Something. He’s not immediately easy to read, yet.

 

''Thank you.''

 

The words are a half beat too slow, just slightly off what a normal phrasing would be. But polite, nonetheless. Only to be followed by a piercing, curious glance, a little lean forward as his lanky frame sways just near enough to Oswald’s to be too close.

 

''What system are you using to reorganize the records room? I'd been trying to convince them that a rhizomatic cross index would function far better than a simple arrangement by date or officer name but, well. Anyway-- it really has needed a proper tending to, hopefully with you around now filing things will start going a bit quicker.''

 

The babble is interrupted by a sudden twitch from the tall figure, a gloved hand thrust forward and yanked back almost too suddenly for eyes to follow. He wrestles with his thick latex glove for a moment, yanking it off and then rubbing his palm against his lab coat jerkily a few times as if to clean it, before the hand is thrust forward again.

 

''I'm Ed. Nygma. Hi.''

 

Oswald misses a good half of the words, attention torn between trying to keep track of both what is said and the way the body before him twitches in motion. He's entirely focused on the man, on the thin line of his mouth as he responds, stops, fights with the glove, and starts speaking again. Something about him, the records, etc.

 

It's all spit forth in what he can only guess is a bout of nervousness, only,  he doesn’t really seem nervous. He seems assured, though perhaps a tad fragile. And Oswald notes silently that he would stand with a much more confident aura if he was dressed...a little more form fitting, something besides that baggy lab coat.

 

Perhaps a pattern.

 

He licks his lips, taking his time in response. This man is... ? An alpha? He would like to say, but the room is cloying with the lingering smell of floor cleaner and sanitizer and he's unable to tell right away. Finally, he reaches forth and clasps hands with him, firmly.

 

His own handshake isn't faux strong to hold his own against others. It's powerful in an enthusiastic sort of manner, brighter than the smile upon his face which is much more muted and hesitant, though not exactly shy.

 

"Rhizomatic? I don't know what that means." The omega confesses, brows furrowing.

 

He hopes it's not taken as ignorance, because there are plenty of things he knows. He knows people, he knows how to cook, he knows language. He especially knows the art of seduction, not sexual, but within the careful and confined means. Seduction as part of manipulation. Seduction as the careful manipulation and creation of trust.

 

''It's, erm, like rhizomes. Mushrooms. Peat moss. They run creepers underground that grow laterally.''

 

He demonstrates with his hands, large fingers splaying out to demonstrate.

 

''Instead of connecting the system just by a chronological and bilateral series based on dates and case numbers, you'd also take into account filing officer, type of case, conditions surrounding it-- as a way to connect commonalities, and when you--''

 

The explanation stops abruptly, startling Oswald a bit as he looks to the other man expectantly. Only to watch the other’s long throat bob in a sharp swallow, and those dark eyes twitch down to the floor as his head ducked a little. Huh. The other seems to fumble for a moment, and to spare him, Oswald cuts in decisively.

 

"It's nice to meet you, I'm Oswald. Oswald Cobblepot. You... you're forensics? I just ask because I've heard you dabble in the autopsy room as well and that you're, quite good."

 

''I-- sorry. Yes. Forensics.''

 

That seems to spark another round of fidgeting, a pink tongue darting over chapped lips, white teeth digging into the bottom one as the other man looks over his shoulder at the door to the morgue. Perhaps Oswald was imagining it, but for a brief moment he could swear he’s just seen the other’s mouth twist into an ugly sneer. Only for it to disappear as soon as it came, Nygma shaking his head and continuing.

 

''I... no. I'm, well. Autopsy is the ME's job. I'm just supposed to look at everything else.''

 

He gestures at the back wall, leaving Oswald peering to try to follow, find what he’s being guided to see. It takes a minute, before his pale gaze latches on a pair of framed certificates; upon further inspection, degrees from Gotham University in chemistry and criminology. Well. That makes sense then, that he doesn’t do autopsies. Biology or pre-med were probably necessary for that. Either way, it appears to be some sort of sore spot, and Oswald is about to gracefully transition away from it, only for the other to twitch again, a curious expression on his face.

  
  
''...You heard?''

 

He’d heard quite a lot, actually. More of it about this man than one might of expected, now that he thought back. Oswald had dismissed most of it, though. Nasty comments about Nygma doing unspeakable things to corpses, messing around with them… it was just scuttlebutt. Surely no more than unkind rumors, the sort unfortunately spread at every workplace, one way or another. But from one or two people, he’d heard good things. That Nygma was fast and good at what he did. Clever, if not obnoxious. So he’d focused on that, the good aspects, and decided to hold further judgement until he actually met the man. Apparently Nygma was aware of it though, or at least some of what was said about him, because his face creased with even deeper confusion and a heavy frown.

 

''From who? If you, ah, don't mind my asking. People... don't...well. People don't say things like that about me. Lots of other things but not that, trust me, I know.''

  
  
Poor thing. Oswald is cut off before he can answer, or offer any sort of comfort in response.

  
  
''Erm. Well. I suppose that doesn't matter actually.'' Nyma smiles tautly, turns away from him to sanitize his hands and tug back on another pair of gloves. Oswald sits on the tiny flare of offense. Perhaps he’s just very cleanly.  And talkative, apparently. Edward Nygma is a... funny, _twitchy_ little thing.

  
  
Little, of course, being a complete misnomer; the man before him is anything but little.

  
  
Still, Oswald stands, arms crossed over his chest loosely, the sharp ends of his fingers played at the little pocket fastened at his breast, toying with the strand connecting his father's monocle and looping down and under. Parts his lips, wondering if he ought to answer the earlier question that Nygma had skittered past without giving him a chance to answer. Except there’s no chance to, because the man is already talking _again._

 

''Best of luck with the records. It really is an awful mess. I'm happy they have you now. Not being able to find anything has been a pain.''

 

“Thank you.’’ Oswald finally manages. ‘’You’re right, it was a mess, but I’m sorting it out.’’

 

Something dings from across the lab, leaving the other’s attention flickering away from Oswald, a pinched look crossing his features. He fidgeted awkwardly, as if trying to figure out how to shoo the omega out of his space without offending him. Which was...fine. Oswald could take a hint. He's been relayed factoids, explanations, comments upon his job. The man before him skips from one topic to the next, words riddled with smaller tics, blinks and hand movements until finally, he's told to leave.

 

''I...I need to finish this.'' Nygma steps over towards the instrument that had dinged, pausing just long enough to add.

  
  
''It was nice to meet you, Mr. Cobblepot. Thank you for the file. Please shut the door when you go.''

 

With that, the other man bends back to his work, abruptly ending the conversation and ignoring Oswald as he fiddles with a microscope.  


The look that crosses Oswald's face is almost offended. There's just a slight leer as he turns cheek; even if he hasn't had the best time keeping up with the current conversation. For a moment there, he'd almost thought the other was enjoying his company.

  
  
"You're welcome." Oswald offers, a sort of cut to his voice as he tries not to take it personally.

 

He's conducted most of his interactions throughout the day rather chastely as it was, hoping to avoid any blatant come-on's from any alphas in the department. Hands tugging at the bottom front of his vest, he straightens it before turning on his heel and marching out, rather curt in his leaving, shutting the door tight behind him before making his way back to the records room.

  
  
As he walks back, he returns to his earlier curiosity, questioning if the other man was truly an alpha, bringing his hand that had been shaken prior to sniff. Coming away with a disappointingly bland mix of antibacterial soap and latex, no discernable pheromones or cologne. Perhaps he’s a beta... there was no real looming, commanding presence from him despite his height, his stature, and no powerful, distinctive scent reeking off him. Either way. Edward Nygma is… something. Something he can’t quite lay finger on, yet.

 

That’s alright, though. He’ll have plenty of time to pass judgement. Forensic research requires records, He’s already sorted through stacks of reports prepared by the man, Nygma’s neat scrawl of his signature at the bottom indicating that he’s going to be working with him more whether he likes it or not. Whoever he is, whatever he is, whether Oswald likes him or not, they’re going to have to work together one way or another.

 

If nothing else, his new job won’t be boring.

 

**********

 

An omega.

 

Huh.

 

Edward can’t remember the last time he spoke to one. The precinct is filled with alphas. Tall, bulky former jocks turned cops, braggarts and idiots, that he spends his days surrounded by. A good scattering of betas as well, of course. But omegas... didn’t work law enforcement jobs. Understandably so. Of course he’s seen them, all sorts came through the GCPD as witnesses or victims, but as far as the employee base...maybe there were a few receptionists, to keep from being accused of sexism. And now, the new records keeper.

 

He almost hadn’t realized at first, too distracted taking in other features of the fascinating new individual presented to him. Pale, dark hair, pale eyes. Neat, tidy clothing, an outfit nicer than anyone else in the precinct. Short in stature, darkened nails indicating some sort of malnutrition, maybe, or an iron deficiency, potentially genetic due to the mutations causing his eye color and extraordinarily pale skin. Slavic origin? That name... American accent, though, with a decidedly Gothamite twang. Edward catalogs the details out of pure habit, turning over the new memories in his mind as his thoughts skitter around, rearrange, process what his eyes have observed.

 

Upon reflection, it’s of course unmistakable, even without much expertise in what to look for. As neatly as this new man-- Mr. Cobblepot, presented himself, he could almost pass for a beta just as easily as Ed, if not for the tiny hint of sweet scenting the air around him. And the tiny symbol marked on his badge, along with his other personal identification.

 

He’s fascinating.

 

And desperately needed atop that. It was high time they got a new records clerk. The filing room has been an utterly wretched mess. Edward himself has been shooed out firmly, repeatedly, after offering to help organize it in his free time. Apparently that job is reserved for him. Oswald Cobblepot.

 

He’s slightly affronted his organizational skills had been refused for the sake of this... individual. And yet. Mr. Cobblepot somehow managed to successfully retrieve a file Ed had been hunting for unsuccessfully over the course of the last week, something quite a near a miracle.

 

It earns his respect, but more than that, a deep and burning curiosity that won’t leave him alone. Desire to understand, and gather information about the new records keeper, figure out how he did it when Edward couldn’t.

 

The whole thing niggles at him, leaving Edward still dwelling on the encounter, the man himself, throughout the next day. He’s distracted from his tasks, mind unhelpfully obsessing, analyzing, far more than is necessary.

 

His distraction earns him a record length dressing down from the medical examiner, leaving Edward having to bite his tongue hard to stand and take it quietly. Still a little sore over the whole thing from the previous day. He’d thought only the higher ups were aware of his infractions meddling with autopsies. But if even a new employee had heard about it, apparently people have been snickering behind his back even more than he realized. Edward far eclipses the ME  in terms of observational skill as well as knowledge of human anatomy and physiology, but what’s on the paper matters more, apparently. He’s “unqualified.”

 

Pushing the thoughts away, Edward turns his attention back to his work for the day, the stack of casefiles, test results, half drafted reports sitting on his desk. His long fingers fluttering over them, only for his brow to furrow with the realization that something is missing, a file he needs to proceed.

 

Normally, Edward sent requests by fax or phone just like anyone else at the precinct when he needed something pulled from storage. But the case that Detectives Bullock and Gordon had handed him that morning was particularly urgent, and he just knew if he could pull the right files, there was a connection there waiting for him.

 

He bites his tongue to try to keep from mumbling softly to himself in thought as he sneaks up to the records room, blinking when no one answered his knock. Well. Maybe Mr. Cobblepot won't mind if he just...lets himself in. He’ll be sure to leave a note stating what he's borrowed so Mr. Cobblepot doesn’t worry about files disappearing.

 

In his opinion, their first meeting went fairly well. As much as any social interaction with his coworkers ever does. He's embarrassed himself, of course, the back of his head is quite clear to imprint that on his awareness, but that’s nothing new. Edward had tried to be as polite and respectful as possible, first impressions being as terribly important as they were, but had ended up rambling pathetically anyway. Had been left trying to hide his scarlet face in his work before Mr. Cobblepot caught how hard he was blushing by the end of their conversation. Conversations not going as he intended them to are fairly common, of course. But what is new, is the fact that Mr. Cobblepot has actually been quite cordial to him. Far more than most of the station's inhabitants. Surely he’ll understand and not mind if Edward simply slips a pin in the lock to the room and-

  
  
Ah. There. He’s in. Humming in quiet content to himself, Edward steps inside, fingers touching over everything as he seeks the file he needs, noting the new organizational system with some interest. It’s...far from perfect. But he can see the logic and order that has gone into it, enough to follow the patterns of thought until he’s able to collect the first of what he’s after with a soft “Aha.”

 

Well. Mr. Cobblepot is no genius, but he does seem meticulous and patient and organized, and Edward figures that will do for now. Maybe next time he sees him Edward can talk to him about cross indexing...

  
  
Oh. Oh dear.

 

No, no there’s no more time to think or look, not now. He can hear a particularly distinctive set of footsteps, an odd sort of shuffle and scrape, getting closer in the hallway. None he particularly recognizes, which means new, which means-- oh, if he can just find the last item and be out... he’s so, so close to being able to get away without being caught, get back to work and put the last pieces of the puzzle together.

 

Edward scrabbles through a filing cabinet, focus tunneling for a moment to the point that he doesn’t immediately hear the footsteps stop, the door he’s left slightly ajar be slid open fully, Oswald Cobblepot step into the room with him.

  
"You... let yourself in, I see."

 

The words earn a muffled yelp from the taller man as he spins around and plasters himself against the filing cabinet defensively in expectation of another harsh lecture, eyes glittery and sharp behind his glasses, frown solidly planted on his mouth. Mr. Cobblepot is back from lunch, earlier than Edward anticipated, back to see that the door he’d locked before he left has been tampered with and someone uninvited is standing in his records room, rifling through his files brazenly, caught where he shouldn’t be and surely about to pay for it.

 

The whole thing is absolutely mortifying.

 

The records keeper is holding a few files to his chest, likely grabbed from the bullpen while he was out and ready for careful refiling. Edward watched, speechless and scarlet as the other man bumped the door closed, and then calmly walked past him to set the files down on his desk.

 

Mr. Cobblepot shifts to lean on the edge of the desk, crossing his ankles and resting his hands on the edge to support himself, so casual it’s downright irritating. He watches Edward for a moment with an intensity that makes him squirm. And before he can even make an attempt to defend himself, the other man’s voice cuts through, as calm and elegant as he was the previous day, rather than sharp with irritation and wrath like so many of his co-workers when they speak to him.

  
  
"What's your excuse? I mean, I suppose I don't mind as long as you have a viable reason to be poking around."

 

Oswald asks, straight and to the point as he watches Edward, seemingly uncaring of the height difference between them. The attention, sharp and unyielding, is enough to make Edward bristle instinctively. If it weren't for the irritating inadequacies of the barely passable organizational system he'd have already found what he wanted and have been gone, but as it is, he stands here stumbling to give some sort of explanation that’ll be enough to keep him from getting written up, again.

  
  
''I--''

  
  
There's no time to make a defense, though, because the smaller man is moving towards him suddenly. The unexpected advance is enough to make him draw back against the filing cabinets, cradling his pilfered documents against his chest as if terrified they'll be snatched away.  

 

''I needed these.'' He states, blunt and defensive, his voice even more nasal than usual with stress. His eyes skitter to meet Mr. Cobblepot’s as the other stands before him expectantly.

 

''And no one responded when I called or knocked and Detective Bullock said they needed the tests finished as soon as possible so I have to have them. You can't take them away from me because I need them for a test.''

 

Which is stretching the truth just a little, but Edward has learned the hard way that his only defense that ever really works was to offer up the investigation of the actual officers and detectives on the homicide or vice or narcotics squads as justification for the odd things he does.

 

(Odd, but never random. Edward always has a reason. It’s just that no one normally ever really cares to listen to them.)

 

''I'll bring them right back when I'm done really but.'' He frowns sharply, before repeating almost plaintively. ''I need them.''

 

Edward expects refusal, will be lucky to simply be kicked out of the records room after a scolding. He expects the records keeper to fuss at him or argue with him or even deny him what he needed-- which likely won’t work, but also wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to him.

 

Instead, the shorter man stalks forward even closer, crowding him up against the file cabinets and leaving Edward a bit short of breath, staring down, stunned silent, as the omega neatly folds his hands behind his back and… inspects him.

 

Mr. Cobblepot’s pale eyes drag up and down Edward’s long form, surveying, judging Edward presented before him. He looks slightly bothered, but not as much as he should be after catching an uninvited guest who’s broken into his domain and taken files without asking.

 

And then Mr. Cobblepot completely derails both the current topic of conversation and Edward’s entire train of thought as he asks a sharp, haughty question.

 

  
"Are you a beta?"

 

The little records keeper stares at him intently, leaving Edward rearing back somewhat in the face of such an odd ...or at least personal question.

 

It’s far from the first time someone has assumed his sex incorrectly, despite the symbol neatly marked on his badge. Edward rarely corrected anyone on it, despite his usual urge  to correct literally any other inaccurate statement spouted at him by his colleagues. He’d learned in university, it was a waste of time since people normally didn’t believe him anyway, and atop that, he didn’t like the taunting that came afterward if they did. Letting people think he’s a beta is easier. Mr. Cobblepot seems to be just like the rest in that aspect.

 

Or, Edward assumed he is.

 

He’s going to answer the question, but Mr. Cobblepot beats him to it, prowling forward with so much intent in his body language, eyes so dark and demanding that Edward’s body instinctively cringes back against the filing cabinet, elbows slamming into it gracelessly and sending pain up his arm from the klutz induced bruises surely now layered with a fresh coat there. That posture... it speaks of nothing good, and Edward’s really not in the mood to get swatted at.

 

A tiny, nervous growl gets lost in the back of his throat as instinct screams at him to either lash out, or turn tail and run.

 

Except he isn’t hit.

 

Instead, Edward freezes as Mr. Cobblepot leans in even further, nose practically brushing Edward’s tie as he stands on his toes and draws in a breath. Looking for...something, even though Edward knows that between the lab chemicals he lives surrounded with, and the strong deodorant he uses, his natural scent is as mild and masked as he can humanly get it.

 

And yet, despite that, the other man leans back, lips curled in a subtle smile, nearly a sneer. Pleased, or surprised… Edward can’t focus enough to say. He reclines his head elegantly, somehow managing to look down his nose at Edward despite being over a head shorter than him. As if entertained by Edward’s nerves, or simply reveling in being able to instigate them, eyes gleaming.

 

The unnerving little smile persists.

 

For a moment, what he is doesn’t matter at all. Because what he isn’t, is the predator in the room.

 

''M-Mr. Cobblepot I--''

 

‘’Ah. An alpha.’’

  
He's cut off by the declaration, blinks as he peers down at the smug omega before him. Edward swallows hard, nodding reluctantly and trying not to think about what's coming. The mockery that always follows people realizing the truth. He is what he is, but in body only. The rest of him...well. He’s heard just about everything by now. That no one as skittery and weedy and pathetic as he is could possibly ever be an alpha. That his knot is probably so tiny as to be nonexistent (which is already statistically improbably due to his height, flat out untrue at that, and if his clothes were cut a bit different would be quite obvious). That he needs a real alpha to show him his place.

 

Not man enough.

 

Embarrassment.

 

_Weak._

  
  
And...now he's thinking about it. Lovely.

  
  
For a moment, the feeling of being so trapped makes the wild thing in him flare, struggle from behind the confines Edward has put on it as it lashes at the prison of his ribcage. There is a solid thing at his back and a person crowding him relentlessly in front, and that sort of proximity has never led to _anything_ good. He does not _like_ being so pinned, so cut off from escape or defense, and he does not _like_ being laughed and mocked just because he isn't some overly-hormonal, arrogant pig like most of the officers who work here.

 

It's distressing enough that for a moment, his eyes flash dark, his muscles go taut, and a rush of sweat on his skin sends the first plume of his true scent through the air, bitter with displeasure in an instinctual warning for the other to back off or else.

  
  
Except, that there is no real “or else,” though, because Edward Nygma is a man of mind not body and his hormones and reflexes do not define him. Fussing at a coworker would be... unprofessional. So instead he clears his throat and tries to compose himself somewhat.  


 

“I… ah, yes. I am. An alpha. And you’re an omega. And that’s that and I really need to--’’

 

He looks down, and cuts off abruptly.

 

Mr. Cobblepot is still looking at him.

 

And unless Edward’s mind is playing tricks on him again… he’d just let out a… a _purr._

 

The other man’s eyes hold something that Edward doesn’t want to try and name, scanning his face, his posture. The omega’s gaze skims across his chest, lingering at his tie, his badge, all the little details Edward chooses so carefully each morning for no one but himself. That...thing, fierce and confident and overwhelming still radiates off him, and after a moment he finally, blessedly leans back to give Edward a bit of space. Mr. Cobblepot shifts his weight, back and forth on his heels, straightens and stands to attention with a slightly more respectable distance between them.

  
  
"You take better care of yourself than half of the other alphas in this building." He observes quietly, and steps back further, allowing Edward to suck in a much needed breath and ease down from his tiptoes pressed against the cabinet.

  
The compliment, if it’s actually meant to be one, isn’t anything expected. He has no idea how to handle this strange omega showing some form of interest in him, this little man who has postured just as dominantly as any of the detectives in vice or homicide (though with far more class and dignity than any of them would ever possess). The other doesn’t appear angry at him, doesn’t appear spooked by the little growl he’d accidentally let slip. He doesn’t even seem in the mood to shame or mock Edward.

 

Though… he is definitely making judgements, of some sort. Edward can see it in his eyes. That’s...that’s alright though. Everyone does, about everyone, really.  

 

“Ah, thank you, but really I--’’

 

‘’Yes, you need to go, I know. That’s fine. You may go. And, take the files." Mr. Cobblepot takes an additional step away, pauses as his lips purse, and then waves his hand pointedly.

 

"It is a little annoying that you just let yourself in, but. I suppose if it’s that important. Just don’t do it again.’’

  
  
Edward is still dazed from the sudden, intimate little exchange. He swallows, throat bobbing a few times as he sucks in a deep breath to try to let some of his stress go. A tiny blush blooms on his face at the unusually gentle scolding, his mind unnaturally slow to process the meaning within the words.

 

He’s going to be allowed to keep the files. That’s what matters. He nods, to show he understands.

  
''It was urgent. I'll try not to in the future. I apologize.''

  
  
Mr. Cobblepot seems satisfied by that. Seems...willing to let him go. So, carefully scooting around to pry himself from against the cabinet, he works on getting a clear path to the door. The other man simply watches him, looking a little amused as Edward scoots his way along the line of cabinets until he is standing with nothing between himself and the door. That managed, Edward draws himself up as best as he can, raising his chin and stating with as much dignity as can be achieved at that point.

 

‘'I have tests to do. They're important. Detective Bullock is counting on me-- and you said I could take these. So I'm going to go.''

 

Hang the last file he needs. Nothing is worth staying here for another half hour hunting through subpar logical arrangement of data to try and find it. Not if it meant a moment longer under the piercing gaze aimed at him by the other man.

 

He’s honestly quite tempted to give Mr. Cobblepot the mother of all cold shoulders for the next week due to this… Incident. But the man isn’t outwardly angry, and Edward is allowed to have his files, and the other has at least backed off some. So perhaps he’ll just cut his losses and call it enough, giving an additional nod, before beginning to make a beeline for the door.

  
  
"Goodbye, Mr. Nygma." The omega offers smoothly, leaving Edward to pause and look over his shoulder as the man rounds back towards his desk. Surveying him one more time, before reaching for his work in clear dismissal.

  
  
''You as well, Mr. Cobblepot.''

  
  
It never does to be rude. But as soon as the requisite pleasantries are exchanged, Edward bolts, so unsettled by the encounter he's actually left a file behind that he originally pulled to take with him. He needs to get back, get his tests done before Detective Bullock comes to fuss at him for slacking. Needs to try and stop his heart from beating double time, and duck into the bathroom to swipe the sweat off his face and the back of his neck.

 

He _needs_ to figure out what on earth that was: to try and figure out Mr. Oswald Cobblepot, the most confusing man he’s ever met.

 

...At least he won’t be bored

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This installment of this universe is completed and will be posted in three parts over the next few weeks. As this is based on an ongoing RP, additional stories in this verse will likely be posted as we complete them. 
> 
> As always, comments are absolute love. We hope you enjoyed this story as much as we've enjoyed creating it. 
> 
> Happy Nygmobblepot Week!


End file.
